Talk:Nova/@comment-24917038-20150524114949/@comment-25065826-20150531102136
My dreams are funny. Odd. In my dreams, I can see with both eyes. But they aren't nice dreams. I would appreciate being blind in both eyes when it comes down to dreams. Lying in bed, my neck completely numb, with scalpels and small knives and hot water each being applied to my scar, trying to remove it. Not happening. Whatever is happening to it, the scar is not budging. Food is crap, as always. In the last week and a bit, I've sort of discovered that once every three days, I get food which is filled with anti-power chemicals. I eat it, because the portions are (cleverly, on their behalf) only just big enough to keep you sustained. You have to eat all the food they give you. Life is so boring. I can't think of anything, because I've done nothing for ages. I can't see anything, the curtain around my bed blocks everything but the door, taunting me. The only good thing about being a test subject is being given quite high priority. And with the numbing stuff on my neck, my scar doesn't hurt anymore. But life is pointless. The people here would rather me dead than alive, and... I'm beginning to agree with them. So I'm eating this mush, my one meal for today, and... Well, it ends there. Boringness. But then, a knock at the hospital door. Someone wants to get in. Will I finally get something interesting to look at? A bleeding, a comatose, or maybe even a mutilated person? Something interesting? Fun? Amazing? No. When they open the door, it's a boy. He looks perfectly fine, maybe just about older than me, brown hair, more of a listener than a talker as I get the impression. But hey, I haven't had much practise with people as of now, so I could be wrong. I lose sight of him, behind the curtain around my bed, and dismiss the thought. Nothing interesting is going to happen. But a few seconds later, he's standing at the opening in the curtains around me. "Hey", he says. This is awkward. "Hey", I whisper. I don't have enough energy or willpower to put on a deranged act. The boy coughs, looks at the floor, and I only just catch what he says, mumbling. "Are you the girl who..." He coughs. "Cross got you, didn't he? You're the bomber, aren't you?" His voice gets more forceful the more he says. I don't say anything. And as he looks at my face for answers, sees my neck. His facial expression changes to surprise, horror and curiosity, and is almost as good as someone bleeding to death. Not quite. "I'm Doug." He says, sharp and quick. I think he wants something. I don't say anything. He leans over. "Being in here must be so boring, right? Nothing to do or look at. Nothing to fight, nothing to be frightened of, nothing." I think I can see where this is going. "What's your power?" He asks. I don't know if I want to tell him. I use my safe option, which everyone else knows. "Telekinesis." I whisper. A screech as a trolley appears around a corner. Doug's face fills with alarm. "Do you want to break out of here?" He stammers. Not what I was expecting. Definitely not. I don't answer for a few seconds, and he starts walking away to avoid the doctor coming over. Visitors aren't allowed. "Outside that door, 7 o'clock tomorrow" I rush. He nods slightly, and walks quickly from the medical centre.